Snowflakes
by chizry
Summary: COMPLETED. A cabin on the top of the Colorado Rockies, a surprise blizzard, and a few schemes make the beauty of a love as beautiful as a snowflake.
1. Beauty of a Snowflake

**Title: **Snowflakes  
**Rating: **R**  
Disclaimer: **If these characters were really mine, I wouldn't have to fantasize, would I?  
**A/N:** Not limited to but in response to the challenge:  
1. Greg and Sara have become more of friends since he started working as a CSI (before "Who Shot Sherlock and after).  
2. Noticing Greg and Sara's and attraction unnoticed by them (Greg and Sara), Nick and Warrick come up with a plan.  
3. They get the idea of sending them up to a cabin in the Colorado Rockies for 'private time' only making them think its for a case; after coming up with there plan they head to Grissom for help to get them to go and authorization for them both to be gone at the same time.  
4. After getting help from Grissom, and getting the cabin ready, they get Grissom to put there plan into action. Both thinking that it's for work agree.  
5. Everything goes as the boys plan until a freak blizzard (technically helping) happens stranding both Greg and Sara in the cabin.  
6. Figuring they should just 'go with the flow' they start talking about more personal stuff. After a while they both realize there starting to fall for each other.  
7. What do they do when they realize there falling for each other? How does the team react with Greg and Sara's new attitude change? And how their plan worked? How will it end?  
8. MUST USE characters: Greg, Sara, Grissom, Cath, Nick, and Warrick.  
9. Greg/Sara friendship end Greg/Sara  
10: any rating

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There is something unexplainable in the beauty of a snowflake.

Mother Nature is never perfect by any means, but each and every crystal that falls from the sky glitters in symmetrical flawlessness. Unlike any other thing on earth, not one can match any other of its kind.

And all of together put a magnificent sight, a blanket of white that brought peace and serenity to the world.

Yes, that was the beauty of it.

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Holding up the crime tape, the pair of CSIs walked onto their crime scene. Unusual it was, being on the rocky shores of one of the nameless streams in Las Vegas.

"Ugh." Turning slightly green, Greg lifted his sleeve to cover his nose. The nauseating smell of a decomposing body was never pleasant, and this one even more so-there was three of them. By the looks of it, it was the traditional young family: a husband, a wife, and their baby child.

And nothing was worse than a multiple decomp.

The messy-haired CSI pulled a face and turned to his companion.

She too, had noticed the smell, but seemed less unfazed than he did. Worriedly, the brunette gave him a small pat on the back, handing him a paper face mask. "Here."

He gave her a silent nod of thanks before donning the mask.

"So what do we have here?" Sara turned to face Brass, who was standing as far away as possible from the victims.

Wrinkling his nose, the detective grabbed a handkerchief and held it over his mouth. "Uh…stream environmentalist found them. Said he was gathering some soil for his experiment, and picked up the foot. Can't see how he missed the smell." Brass gestured towards the surprisingly calm man being interrogated by an officer. "Called PD about half an hour ago. Foot fell off the male vic's body, by the way. Guy threw it by accident." He pointed at the body part lying in the stream.

Sara frowned, not really looking forward to picking out some rotting flesh out of the water. Even now some pieces of skin were beginning to peel off and float downstream.

"Which one of you is gonna go swimming for your prize?" Brass quipped sarcastically.

Before anybody could say anything more, Greg rushed to a clear area and regurgitated what was remaining of his Cup O'Noodles lunch. Still looking a bit pale, he continued to heave. Brass looked thoroughly disgusted, and gave Sara a pointed look.

"Guess that's me, huh?" Rolling up her sleeves, Sara began to wade into the muck.

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Several hours later found the pair in the evidence room, sifting through what remained of the clothes. Even then, they were still wearing her mask. The strawberry-blonde entered the room, and immediately recoiled from the unbearable odor.

"Hard case?" Catherine Willows sympathized with them, knowing very well that the team's supervisor had stuck them with the worst case in a long while.

"Mmm." Bent over what looked like it would've been a skirt, Sara frowned. "There's a hair. Unburnt."

Catherine's eyes widened in surprise as Greg leaned over Sara, nearly breathing on her neck. "Where?"

Remembering full well that the brunette hated the violation of personal space, the older woman began to wonder why Sara hadn't called him on it.

In fact, it almost seemed like she was enjoying it.

Catherine turned on her high heels and left.

The two in question didn't even notice that she had left, too busy in the evidence and each other. Heading for the break room, Catherine knew two people who would be very interested in what she had to say.

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"A closet." The Texan suggested, taking a sip from his coffee. Making a face, he dumped it out into the sink and grabbed a bag of Greg's Blue Hawaiian from above the hanging cabinets.

Warrick Brown shook his head. The idea was too generic. "Nah. A date?"

Adamantly shaking his head, Nick Stokes heaved a deep sigh. "No way. Sara would kick our asses for that one."

"Uh-huh." Catherine walked into the room, smirking as if she almost won the lottery.

The two best friends looked at her, curious. "What's up, Cath?" The dark-skinned CSI questioned, seeing her eyes glitter with mischief.

One corner of her lips turned upwards, gracing her face in a half-smile. "Guess what I saw?"

"What?"

She smirked, explaining to them what she had just seen. The other two just grinned.

"We need a plan," Nick drawled, racking his mind for any ideas.

His eyes settled on a magazine lying open on the counter. Snatching it up, he held it up for the others to see, smiling widely.

Reading the page, Warrick and Catherine exchanged sly glances of agreement.

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	2. Flowers in the Attic

It had been a hard case, Sara wearily thought as she and Greg trudged out of the investigation room. They had gotten it wrong at the start-the woman they had found was not the wife and mother of the family, but rather the daughter. And it was the wife that had murdered them all with arsenic disguised as sugar-coated cookies. Like in the movie _Flowers in the Attic_, except there was no happy ending of sorts.

She knew it was entirely coincidental, but Grissom sure had a knack for giving her and Greg the emotional cases. Even when he knew the last emotional case she was on had nearly gotten her fired from her job.

However, she was more worried about Greg than herself. The spiky-haired lab rat may have looked like some rock-star wannabe, but he was the most happy-go-lucky of the whole team. Everyone may not have admitted it, but his childish quirks and jokes gave them something to look forward to on a difficult shift.

She didn't want that optimistic, carefree Greg to go away, but she was afraid it already had.

"How could somebody do that?"

Turning around to face an incredulous Greg, Sara gave him her forlorn half-smile. "That's the way the world runs, Greggo." It had been over five years now since she had met him, but he didn't know what only Grissom and Nick knew.

It was pathetic, but it gave hope that a piece of innocence in him still existed.

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"Just this one favor, Griss," Warrick implored, hoping that the older man would accept. He, Nick, and Catherine were all in the break room, fully aware that there was probably only a few minutes left until Greg and Sara's interrogation was over. In truth, it was a risky place to hold this conversation.

Once more, the supervisor shook his head. Running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, he frowned. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Raising a sculpted eyebrow, Catherine gave him a knowing look, one that he hated because it said that she knew what he really meant. And giving himself away was one of the things he feared most.

"Bullshit, Gil, and you know it," she replied. Maybe the others couldn't read his emotions, but she could see jealousy and envy as clear as if it was written on his face. "Greggy absolutely adores her. They're good for each other, and we've all seen it."

"Seen what?" Grabbing a cup of coffee, Sara stood in the doorway patiently awaiting her answer. Cath and Grissom exchanged glances, unnoticed by the brunette.

Grissom said the first thing that came to mind. "The Body Farm," he answered, pulling his award-winning poker face. To his side he heard his long-time friend snort at his creativeness.

"Oh. Greg took me last week," Sara nodded at his reply.

Lukewarm brown fluid spewed from Grissom's mouth, spattering all over the newspaper that Warrick was reading. With disgust, the CSI looked over the top of the paper cautiously while everyone else looked on in amusement.

"You're supposed to drink that, man," the dark-skinned man protested, tossing the newspaper and giving Grissom some napkins to wipe the mess.

"Since when did you and Greg meet outside of the lab?" Grissom demanded, his eyes flashing behind his spectacles.

Sara was quite taken aback at his rough tone. Fury took over when she recognized the flash of envy in his dark pools. "None of your business," she fumed, getting a mug of steaming liquid for Greg before storming out. Out in the hallway, Nick saw that his best friend had nearly bowled down a confused Judy in her rush to escape.

Catherine shook her head, her shoulder-length tresses, tumbling about. "Smooth, Gil. You made her mad now." From experience, she knew that an annoyed Sara meant some bruised egos and many harsh tiffs.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but the way he pinched his nose between his dark eyes gave away what he truly felt.

"So how about it? You in, Grissom?" Nick drawled, lifting up the magazine he had been holding.

A pause passed by, before Grissom sighed heavily. Reluctantly, he nodded, and handed a triumphant Texan the phone.

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	3. Cozy Cabin

A/N: Thank you to all that reviewed…most appreciated and loved.

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"Here we go," the Texan drawled as he passed out detailed photos of the outside of a log cabin covered lightly in powdered snow and its lush interior. "Owner was happy to send us all some pictures."

His colleagues and partners-in-crime (ironic as it may be) all held their hands out for the snapshots. When Nick had wanted to make sure that this plan was fail-proof, he had left no pinholes for it to fall through.

The owner of the rental cabins was friendly-he went all out to ensure that any friendly couple that visited would leave a loving couple.

As for the cabin, it was already decked in Christmas colors, a beautiful array of crimson, emerald, and gold. It was quite elaborate, from the magnificently carved furniture to the-believe it or not, the drink coasters. The Christmas tree standing in the corner was elegant and handsomely decorated, a lone gift decked in silver wrapping paper.

"Nice," Catherine commented, flipping through the pictures. For the price that the magazine ad had advertised, this was way better than expected.

Whistling in disbelief, Warrick leaned back in his seat. "You're telling me that's where we're sending them? Man, what I would do to live like that for a week," he groused good-naturedly.

Grissom frowned as he stumbled upon what seemed to be a snapshot of the cabin's liquor cabinet. "Do they really need that much alcohol?" he asked. Indeed, it seemed like whoever ran the place stocked it with every bottle of wine and vodka imaginable. "They'll get drunk with not even a little of that stuff."

He didn't like this idea one bit. Especially since Sara had that DUI a while ago, the older man was overly protective and didn't want to admit it.

"That's the plan," Nick replied cheekily. "You have them set for tomorrow, right, Gris?"

Holding up an assignment slip, Grissom nodded, albeit reluctantly. On it was the location of the 'crime scene'. "I managed to get Ecklie to have a helicopter to fly them up there."

Catherine laughed, blue eyes twinkling. "Don't need to know how many strings it took to pull that one off, Gil."

He shrugged, a smile plastered on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It took a lot of bargaining. Didn't want to lose two CSIs, but it's the holidays." The strawberry blonde noticed the lack of enthusiasm, but didn't say anything.

"So where are Greg and Sara now anyway?" Warrick handed back the photos to Nick as he looked towards Grissom.

Taking off his glasses, Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "Some armed burglary at a convenience store off Madison. They'll be back shortly."

"Cool. Well, we better get back to work. Later, Grissom." Nick and Warrick left the break room, going to see Hodges on their evidence.

As soon as the other two men were out of earshot, Catherine turned to her long-time friend. "What was that?"

Grissom didn't reply, instead holding his head gingerly in his hands. Feeling her stare bore into him after a few minutes, he looked up and saw the concern in her eyes.

"You don't want her to move on?" It was more of a statement than a question, and it didn't need an answer. They both knew the truth.

For a while, with him looking down at the papers lying on the table and her gazing thoughtfully at him. When she finally got up from her chair and headed out the door, he was still sitting there, still searching for something.


	4. Bomb in a Box

Cold was such an understatement.

Right now, it had to be at least twenty degrees Fahrenheit at where they were, hovering about a mile in the air in a tin can. Below them, they could see hazy fields of green, and around them-white.

"Why are we always stuck on these cases?" she grumbled darkly.

He tilted his head in that endearing puppy-dog way. "We as in us, or the nightshift?"

Sara had to smother a grin. Whenever Greg did that, it was usually sweet and adorable. "Nightshift. Why can't Ecklie ever take an out-of-state case?"

Greg shrugged. "Because he's an ass?" From a reprimanding look and a nod towards the man sitting in the captain seat, he changed his reply. "Because we are expendable." He mimicked quotation marks around the word expendable.

Accepting that answer, Sara nodded mutely and the two settled into a comfortable silence.

It was a few minutes before either of them spoke.

"God, it's freezing," Greg chattered through clenched teeth. The dark olive windbreaker he was wearing did little to shield him from the nipping wind, and he could almost swear that there was frost on his nose. Thank god he had gloves.

Looking over at him, Sara frowned deeply. "Didn't you have anything warmer than that?" She herself was wearing a down-filled coat and a matching maroon scarf.

"In my bag. I didn't think it got this cold in Colorado. Vegas and California never froze to ice cubes in my lifetime."

The brunette rolled her eyes and reached for a wool blanket stashed behind her seat. Upon second thought, she gave him all of them, except for one that she laid on her lap. Snuggling into the fabric-induced warmth, they exchanged smiles and gazed out into the cloudy winter sky.

While Sara was looking out at the pine trees below, Greg took the opportunity to look at her. Despite the unbearable cold, she looked comfortable sitting on the hard bench. Her nose was slightly pink, matching the rosy blush settled on her cheeks. She was always a winter person, he mused, an icy exterior with a warm and mysterious persona underneath.

It was saddening, to know that this snowflake had endured such hard times. Nick had told him about her parents, and he had sworn to never talk about it, for she didn't know he knew. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, her eyes would fill with deep longing and regret at the families who stuck together through everything.

She was melting in her despair.

A voice shattered his thoughts. "We're touching down in ten minutes," the pilot yelled, barely heard over the whirling helicopter blades.

He quickly looked away as Sara shouted something in reply and turned to look at him.

"I think some hot chocolate is in order," she quipped, shocking him with a smile that could envy the sunlight reflecting off the snow.

Grinning back, he sighed happily. Maybe the snowflakes could have a happy ending.

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"Need some help with that?" Mr. Kramer, the owner of the stretch of cabins in the mountains, offered a hand to Greg, who was struggling with one of Sara's bags in the trunk. The elderly man pulled the suitcase out of his SUV and slammed the lid closed.

Nodding in relief, the spiky-haired CSI wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand. "Good grief, Sara. Did you pack your whole closet?"

Glaring at him, she shook her head. "Ha ha. Funny, Sanders."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Greg held the door open for the older man and his partner as they stepped into the home-style cabin. A sharp bang sliced through his ears, and he quickly looked inside to see that Sara had dropped the crime kit she was carrying. And why she had dropped it.

"Woah." Greg murmured in awe. His friend just stared speechless at the exquisiteness of it all.

"Like it, kids? My wife and I decorated it ourselves," the grey-haired man said proudly. "I even cut down that Douglas fir over there," he gestured towards the tree standing in the corner.

Putting down the luggage, Sara looked around the room in disbelief. It was an unbelievable dream that the two of them were to be staying here for a couple of days. Silver bells jingled lightly as Greg quietly closed the cabin door. White lights twinkled merrily off the lush branches of the tree. A reflection off of a shiny package caught her eye.

"What's this?" Holding the wrapped present carefully in her hands, she peered at it cautiously.

Mr. Kramer beamed. "Your friends sent it up to us. Said that you should open it right away," he added as he walked out of the cabin. A revving of the engine signaled to the pair that the owner had driven away.

Greg turned his attention towards the elegant box and squinted at the attached tag. "To Greggo and Sar, from Nick and company," he read, flipping the small paper to see if anything else was written. "Open immediately upon arrival." He noticed that Sara was still staring suspiciously at it. "So open it."

"What if it's a trap?" she inquired, an uncharacteristic childish tone creeping into her words. "For all we know, it could be dangerous."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, Nick would give us a TNT bomb and cover it up in a pretty bow," he intoned with a straight face.

Elbowing him sharply in the ribs, Sara tore the offending gift open with one smooth rip. Inside the parcel were a note, two ski passes, and what appeared to be mistletoe. She blushed at the sight of the red-berried leaves and instead peered closely at the ski passes.

Greg snatched the note, ignoring the expression on his co-worker's face. "To our dear comrades," he paused, feeling Sara's chin resting lightly on his shoulder. Pretending to be unaffected by the gesture, the younger man continued. "You're far, far away from the crime scene right now. In fact, you left it behind in Vegas." He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "What the hell are they talking about?"

"Keep on reading," she nudged him gently with her arm

He nodded, and returned his attention to the paper. "Guess what we did?" The handwriting changed from Nick's masculine one to Catherine's, a rather large ink blot revealing that the strawberry blonde had apparently stolen the note to write her own two cents. "You two are oblivious about each other, so you're stuck here at the cabin for a few days till you 'fess up."

There was awkward silence for a minute. Both noted that the other didn't object, Sara now flushing a furious shade of red.

Grabbing the note, she took over. This time, the words on the paper were Warrick's. "Don't worry, Grissom's got you covered." She re-read the line and gaped. "What? He can't do that!"

"He's our boss, Sara…can do anything he wants. What else does it say?"

"That they won't pick us up till the week is over. And the ski passes are for the whole week." She tossed the paper back into the box, and looked around. Greg was no longer in sight. "Where are you?" When there was no answer, she grew worried and walked down the hallway, taking in the hanging picture frames of forest scenery. Turning the corner, Sara found him in a closet. "What are you doing?"

Pulling out a ski pole and a pair of skis, her friend popped his head out and grinned. "Who's up for some serious fun?"


	5. Trees and Skis

**A/N: **Thanks a lot to those who review (and those who keep reviewing). I would name you all, 'cept I think it's against rules…so I love you guys .

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"I've never been skiing before," Greg confessed as he clumsily clambered onto the lift. Adjusting his ski poles, he watched enviously as his partner slid next to him with much more grace. She had obviously done this a couple of times.

"Went skiing in college," Sara answered his unasked question. "Boston's perfect weather for the snow." He nodded and tried to fix his skis again, nearly falling off the seat. She grabbed his elbow to keep him from tipping forward. "Watch it," she warned with a friendly grin.

Trying to ignore her gloved hand tightly clasped around his arm, Greg gulped and focused on the ground below. Bad idea.

"Uh…how high are we?" the spiky-haired man stammered, only seeing the tops of the evergreen trees. It was one thing to be strapped inside of the helicopter, another to be freely swinging with nothing to hang on to.

Sara laughed lightly, noticing his discomfort. "Not that high. Don't look down if you're scared of heights," she teased.

He swallowed hard again, and looked determinedly forward at some hideous orange cap that a lady was wearing the seat ahead of him. It wasn't that he was acrophobic. But dangling over some pointy rocks wasn't exactly the safest thing to do in his book.

The mood quickly changed from humorous to concern. "You alright?" Already the brunette could see that he wasn't exactly relaxed this high up in the sky.

"Yeah. I'm fine." However, Sara knew he was only trying to comfort himself.

Without thinking about it, she took his hand and held it, almost like the time he was in the hospital-

No. She swore that she wouldn't even think about that disaster. Bad enough that Nick had faced death twice; she didn't need to remember when Greg almost met with his demise too.

Despite the cold, she could feel the heat of the chemical-induced flames that had engulfed the lab, feel the pricks of glass that had shattered down on her as she laid flat on the tiled floor. She could also remember all too well how hot his body felt, burned and scarred.

That was the worst memory of her life, third only to Nick's burial and her father's murder.

Greg felt Sara shiver next to him; still grasping onto his hand but more tightly than before. Thinking it was the cold, he didn't mind.

She was still holding it, however, when they jumped off into the snow.

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By the time the sun had begun to set, the pair was dead beat and tired. Skiing down together towards their cabin, they began talking about everything except work. Somehow, it seemed like an unspoken rule that while they were here, they were to have fun.

And work was usually anything but that.

"Details!" Greg whined as Sara gave him a rebellious smirk. He had heard something from Nick about her and the mile-high club, but didn't believe it.

Shaking her head, white flakes flew from her hair. "Nope."

"How about some of my Blue Hawaiian?"

"Why would I need it if we have perfectly good coffee-gourmet coffee-in our cabin?"

"Good point." Greg scrunched his face up in thought, turning his head to the side. He didn't see the tree until it was too late.

Wham.

The end of his pole caught around the trunk, jerking him backwards while his skis went forward. Sara, looking behind her upon hearing the sound, tried to steer from colliding, but he ended up smashing into her anyway with a loud jumble of wood and metal.

A sharp pain shot up through her foot as she landed on it. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he apologized sincerely. When he put out his arms out at her sides to raise himself off of her, he only just realized how close they really were.

Judging by odd shade of red in her cheeks, she figured it out too.

To any outsider, it would have looked erotically like they were making out in the snow. Their legs were entangled in an intimate position (how that happened, he'd never know), the palm of her hands pressed up against his chest to push him upwards. Both were flushed, eyes half closed and mouth partly open.

Silently they stayed like that for a few minutes, snowflakes gently powdering them as it came down. Only when the wet mush began to seep through their snowsuits did they attempt to move from their spot.

Brushing the snow off of his shoulders, Greg held out his hands and she gratefully took them. A jolt of pain went up Sara's leg as she put weight on her ankle, and she nearly tumbled forward.

"You okay?" her friend asked worriedly, helping her gather their skis. Sara was still hobbling a bit.

She nodded, but her eyes barely betrayed a hint of distress. "Yeah. Just a bruise." However, the next step almost sent her headlong into a tree.

Wordlessly, Greg helped her up, more carefully than before. He glanced down, and saw that her leg was twisted a bit, like a broken bone. Not a good sign at all.

"Can you walk?"

"A bit."

Together they took the last hundred yards to the cabin, and he aided her up the wooden steps and onto the couch. Stripping their now soggy clothes, they managed to get warmed up again.

Gingerly, Sara rolled up her pant leg to see her foot, and grimaced audibly. Her leg wasn't broken, but her ankle was definitely twisted-the skin had swollen and turned an awful shade of scarlet. She grabbed a pillow and laid her ankle on top for elevation.

"Here." He handed her a cold ice pack wrapped in a thin cotton towel, and a warm fleece blanket. "Is it ok?"

"Just a twisted ankle. I'll be fine."

"You sure? Aspirin, hot pack, water, anything?" Greg babbled nervously, not realizing he was doing so.

She laughed lightly. "Relax, it really is nothing serious. I'll be okay after I get some rest."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He beamed widely, finally reassured. "Ok then. Hot chocolate coming right up," he called as he entered the spacious kitchen.

Once he was out of sight, Sara sighed. He was adorable when he was playing nurse, but sometimes he was just too caring.

For a few minutes she stared at the glowing flames of the fire, mulling over the day. It truly was fun, even though Greg still crashed every ten feet or so down the mountain. And when he always picked up the wrong pair of ski poles.

Not that she would admit it, but she really loved having to spend a few days alone with him. Romantic, even.

She mentally banged herself in the head with Grissom's entomology book. That was what their friends wanted them to think, and she wasn't going to think that. Because that meant they won, and she hated losing. A scowl formed on her face at the thought.

A steaming cup of rich brown liquid was thrust in her hands at that moment. Sara sipped it eagerly, surprised at how good it actually tasted. Smiling, she downed half of the cup in one go. "You made this?"

"Yeah." The dopey grin on his face told her otherwise. "Okay, so I used the hot chocolate and coffee maker. It's killer stuff, but doesn't quite hold up to my own forty-dollars-a-bag coffee."

"Maybe, but it's still pretty good."

Greg set his cup down on a gold coaster and peered closely at her propped-up foot. He began to observe it like he did DNA samples, before he became a field mouse. The skin had decreased in swelling, hopefully a good sign.

Warm fingers on her socked toes shocked her, making her jump a bit. "What are you doing, Sanders?"

"Massage. People said I'm really good at them." He gently rubbed at the now-purpling bruise on her foot, easing the tension out of her muscles. The numbing soreness in her ankle began to fade, replaced by a warm sensation caused by his skin on hers. "Am I?"

"Mmm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

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Back in Nevada, the T.V. in the crime lab began to produce much more static than usual. A late-night news reporter was on the screen, looking more worried that normal.

"Attention all people listening to this station: this storm has already begun coming through and we warn you-"

Dead with its last flicker, the T.V. shut off…taking most of Las Vegas' power with it.


	6. Ice Princess

Where it had once been lightly showering flurries, it was now pouring down sheets of snow. It had been only two days since Greg and Sara's departure, but already Catherine feared the worst. A foot of snow already covered Vegas-and with the mountains normally getting three times more precipitation, that meant that the couple had already experienced three feet of snowfall, it not more.

And if anything, this blizzard wasn't going to stop by any means. Power had been out for several hours already, with no sign of returning any time soon. Even with the emergency generator running, only the hallway lights and the necessary lab equipment were operating, leaving most of the lab shrouded in darkness.

"Do you think they're ok, Gil?" The strawberry-blonde fiddled with the somewhat heavy flashlight in her manicured hands.

He didn't answer, instead focusing his eyes towards the curtain of white outside the window.

It didn't matter though; Catherine knew him too well to believe that it didn't bother him as much as it should. He didn't want to let go of Sara, even though she had long since let go of him. Heartbreaking, it was, and there was no chance that the older man was going to talk about it.

That didn't stop her from trying to break the ice, though. "Griss?" Still no reply. Stiff silence filled the air, and the woman sighed and shifted in her chair. "I'll go check on everyone," she said quietly, getting up to leave.

Once the glass door clicked shut behind her, Grissom finally turned away from the frigid weather and looked down at the paper in his hands.

Ink snow-capped mountains were staring hauntingly back at him.

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Groaning softly, Greg yawned widely. Trying to stretch his arms, he felt a comfortable weight pin his arm down tightly. He smiled, finding that the weight was actually a body-a female one.

Still drowsy with sleep, he took his free hand and ran it absently over the silky skin that the mysterious woman's shirt exposed. A small moan escaped her lips, as she nestled in closer to the front of his body. Encouraged, Greg's fingers traveled upward, making small circles as they went.

As he moved his fingers over the person's stomach, he heard the person--moan lightly and shift a little, still asleep. Arousal rose up from its fiery depths and settled below his waist.

Pressing his lips to the smooth column of flesh, he felt the person purr in pleasure to his touches. A warning bell rang distantly in his head, but he ignored it. Without really thinking about it, he ran a warm tongue over a sensitive part of the person's neck.

In the next instant, his eyes shot open to a frightened and surprised Sara standing half-wrapped in a blanket and to cold hot chocolate dripping off his eyelashes.

Wiping the liquid off his face, Greg rubbed his ear tenderly, where the ceramic mug had miraculously whacked him soundly without shattering.

"Oh!" Regaining her composure, Sara rushed to his side. "I didn't know it was you, Greg," she apologized fervently. Grabbing the disposable ice pack lying in the first aid kit on the coffee table, she handed it to him.

He accepted it gratefully. "You throw a mean mug," he griped good-naturedly, holding it to the side of his head.

"I didn't mean to throw it at you," the brunette exclaimed as she helped him mop up the mess.

"Yes you did. You just didn't know it was me."

Sara's expression was still a mix of apprehension and ill-concealed amusement. "Still. Are you sure you're alright?"

He nodded, glancing down at her foot. "What about your ankle?" Greg asked, changing the subject.

Pulling her pajama pant legs up, she was astonished to see that the swelling had completely disappeared. "Much better. Thanks for helping me last night," Sara said gratefully.

He didn't hear a word she said, focusing on her long legs instead. Not realizing he was gaping, he stared somewhat longingly until Sara cleared her throat.

"Up here, Greg", the brunette smirked as he caught her eyes and flushed a deep red.

Covering himself up, Greg tried to look at anywhere but here eyes. His gaze settled on the fireplace, where there were two rather large stockings. On second thought, it wasn't that the stockings were large-they were stuffed.

"What's this?" He walked over and pulled a pair of leather black ice skates in his size out of one of the stockings. Reaching into the other, he held out a set for Sara in white. Attached to hers was a gold-filigreed note.

"What is more romantic than skating?" the words said in Warrick's smooth handwriting. Despite the short message, it said everything.

Rolling her eyes, Sara just took the skates with a pouting grin.

--------------------------------------------------

"This is nice," Sara commented as she and Greg traveled around the frozen lake with the other couples.

Snow was still falling gently up in the mountains, but it was definitely getting colder as the time passed by.

Linked arms keeping them close together side by side, the weather didn't seem to matter at all to them. The two seemed to ignore everyone else on the ice, only noticing each other and each other only. Snuggling into Greg's side, Sara giggled girlishly as she tried her hardest to keep him balanced on the slippery surface.

"Hey," Greg laughed as she unexpectedly hit a rough patch and pitched forward. Only his strong arms around her waist prevented the young brunette from hitting the ice.

"Uh….thanks," Sara stammered, not quite sure if she should be feeling all too comfortable in his arms. Nervously, she shrugged out of his touch and settled for holding hands. Without much thought she pecked him softly on the cheek in an adoring gesture.

Greg didn't seem to mind, absorbing the feeling of her lips on his wind-burned cheeks. "No problem," he said easily as they went another lap.

After a while and getting used to the ice, Sara began to perform a couple of simple tricks. Once she got into it, it was hard for her to stop.

Crossover. Glide. Spin. Jump. Land. Twirl. People began to stop and observe as she followed a small dance routine she learned a couple of years ago from a college friend. Once she did a last breath-taking double axel jump, the audience enthusiastically clapped, much to her embarrassment.

Proudly, Greg took her hand and raised it, victory style. More loud applause followed, and she elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop it, Sanders," she muttered playfully as he forced her into a bow. "It was all just physics."

"Why? That was beautiful. You were beautiful," he prided happily, enjoying the reddening of her face. Her performance reminded her vaguely of the Disney movie "Ice Princess". An intelligent girl taking her chances in a to-die-for sport. Taking her arm again in his, Greg gave her a hug before leading her across the ice. "Where'd you learn to do that anyway?"

"My friend at Harvard was a physiology major, on top of wanting to become a professional ice skater. So, whenever I helped her study, she helped me on the ice."

"Hmm. Think she'll help me too?"

Throwing her head back, Sara laughed. "You're hopeless," she joked, shaking her head. A piece of her curly hair fell into her face, and Greg gently tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her neck. She stayed silent, looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

He gave her a sad smile, and moved his hand to her waist. Holding it there, Greg wordlessly directed her to circling the ice.

Whatever flirting they had going on had now completely frozen into tense silence. Trying to ignore it, they just followed each other and not feel a sharp blade slice their courage and hopes apart.

Going around the lake a few more times, it was sunset by the time they decided to head back to their cabin. Luckily, it wasn't all that far away to a roaring fire and a warm shower. So, after removing their skates and tying up their boots, the pair trudged through the deepening snow.

It was getting harder to see now, the darkness and the thicker snowfall blinding the trail back up. Somehow, the two made it back after much difficulty.

"Some gloomy clouds out there," exclaimed Greg once they were safe within the wooden walls of the cabin. He peered anxiously outside, noticing the darkening sky above the skyline of the trees.

As an answer Sara turned on the radio to the mountain weather station. Oddly enough, the announcer's voice came out fuzzy and scratchy. Neither could understand a word that was coming out, until it finally faded away into white noise.

Sara and Greg exchanged troubled glances as the old-fashioned lamps began to flicker a bit.

"Guess I'll go get the candles."


	7. I Never

**A/N:** There's only one crude word in here…sorry if it offends anyone.

-----------------------------------

There was one game that Sara Sidle was never good at-the good old-fashioned game of I Never. She always lost, no matter what or who she was playing against It wasn't that she couldn't hold her alcohol (which she couldn't all too well, but that's beside the point), but she wasn't always such a kick-ass loner. Life may not have treated her too well, but it was her life was made of moments that were either completely shot to hell or gifts from heaven.

Not everyone would have thought it, but Sara would take any dare when it was given.

Yet try telling that to Greg.

"You went skinny-dipping in January?" her friend asked in disbelief as the brunette downed her fifth shot of vodka to his third.

The questions had gone from the innocent "I have never run away from home" to much more dirty thoughts…and more dirty secrets.

Shrugging, she set the glass down. "It was a dare from my boyfriend…the mile-high club one." Sara had told the story to him as they tried to pass the time during the storm.

A pang of jealousy had gone through Greg, at the thought of some unknown (to him, at least) guy banging her against a flimsy airline restroom door. But he wasn't about to let her know that.

"Sounds fun," he had commented casually, as if it wasn't a big deal. Greg didn't expect her to be a virgin by any means, of course. It was just the idea that she had been an adventurous partner…and not with him.

But currently, Sara was having the most fun grilling Greg.

"I never…signed another guy's…" the brunette coughed to hide her embarrassment, but he understood. He remembered vaguely about hers and Nick's case, fondly dubbed "Mr. Johnson", where a fraternity pledge candidate got a girl to sign his penis, flesh and all. In one smooth motion Greg took the vodka bottle, poured a shot, and downed it in less than twenty seconds.

Chuckling, Sara stared and sputtered in her amusement. Resting her head on her hands, she tilted her head to the side. "So when was this, hm?"

Greg just gave her a sassy grin. "I don't swing that way, Sar. But see, it started like this…"

-----------------------------------

They had run out of vodka after her eighth shot and his seventh. He only won because, as she eloquently put it, "you have an interesting personality, but your social life is as social as mine".

What a way to shoot a man's ego.

Right now, they were sitting cozily on the dark leather couch, watching as embers cracked lazily in the fireplace. A warm wool blanket lay strewn across their laps.

"I wonder how everybody is doing in Vegas," Greg wondered quietly, hearing the snow still roaring around outside.

Sara shrugged nonchalantly and leaned closer into him. He smiled secretly, enjoying her warmth snuggling into his side. Wrapping an arm lovingly around her shoulders, he hugged her and without much thought, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Cold?"

A burning sensation flooded down from his lips down to her toes, warming her. "Uh…no."

With an idea forming in his head, Greg smirked slightly. "You sure?"

She nodded, her mouth pulling downwards in a small frown. What was he getting at?

He shifted a little, giving them a few inches of space between them. Another grin formed on his face, more relaxed and carefree. "How 'bout now?" the messy-haired man inquired, taking a little of the blanket with him.

By now, Sara was facing him with a full-fledge scowl. "What are you doing?" she demanded, yanking on the blanket to distribute it evenly among the two of them.

"Making sure you're not too warm," he commented smugly. "How are you now?"

"Cold, thanks to you," she snapped, not really putting heart into her irritation.

Greg nodded, happy that his little scheme was working perfectly. Adjusting his position on the couch, he ignored her confusion and questioning eyes. "Here, I'll keep you warm." Tilting her chin so that she could face him, he planted his warm lips over hers.


	8. Merry Christmas

"So that's the end of my story," Nick concluded, gently ruffling the soft brown curls tumbling down the little girl's shoulders.

Soulful brown eyes look up at him adoringly. "How do you know, Mr. Santa?" she asked sweetly.

Trying to smother a laugh, Warrick and Catherine gave each other a smirk. Such a pity that Grissom hadn't wanted to be stuffed in no doubt a sweaty suit (even when everybody had bribed him with a collection of roaches).There was always something charming to little kids with the magic of Santa.

"Santa knows everything, Noelle," the strawberry blonde reassured the bouncing four-year-old. "Now sit still and smile!"

Willingly, the child obeyed, giving 'Mr. Santa' a dainty kiss on the cheek. After a few snapshots, Noelle hopped down from Nick's lap and sat down with Lindsey in front of the brightly decorated Christmas tree. Nick got up from his seat on the couch and went to change into his actual clothes.

"Hey, lovebirds! Time to unwrap the gifts," Warrick hollered.

"Noelle Eve Sanders, don't do that!" Rushing over, her mother gently tugged the girl's grasp away from one of the boughs of the evergreen.

Greg swooped Noelle into the air, the two of them giggling. Grabbing Sara's arm, he swung her into a hug and a dramatic kiss, holding her close.

------------------------------

Outside the warmly-lit house, alone in a car, was an older man, hair with more salt than pepper. He stared forlornly at the twinkling colorful lights, the happy silhouettes splayed across the curtains.

It was four years in the future now, and four years too late.

Letting a few minutes pass, he revved up the engine and drove away slowly, headlights capturing the words on the mailbox.

"Merry Christmas from the Sanders," it read.


End file.
